The Takeover Bid. Leigh Michaels

herself.

      Chauffeuring someone around for a night on the town…what fun that was going to be. Especially if it turned out to be Erika Winchester. Melanie wasn’t going to whine about it, though, because that would only encourage him.

      “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this could be a very interesting dilemma. If I’m driving, a Corvette won’t be big enough because it only holds two passengers. However, Erika will want it to be just the two of you. So that means the Corvette would be perfect after all, except that you don’t want to drive it, so we’re back to needing a seat for the chauffeur…. I’ve got it. I’ll teach you how to handle it, and then you and Erika can have a cozy—”

      Wyatt shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to take driving lessons from someone who knows exactly how fast that Cadillac will go on a straightaway.”

      “Actually,” Melanie said thoughtfully, “I don’t know. Not firsthand.”

      “That’s a relief. Who actually tried it out? Robbie, or one of the other guys?”

      “I mean that I don’t know precisely how fast it’ll go, because I’m only guessing. The speedometer was buried and the car was still accelerating when I saw the curve coming and let off the gas.”

      “I hope you’re going to tell me this was on a track and not a regular road.”

      “If it will make you feel better, I can tell you anything you want to hear.”

      Wyatt rolled his eyes.

      “For heaven’s sake, of course it was on a track. You don’t think I’m idiot enough to drive that fast on a public highway, do you?”

      “I don’t think I should answer that,” Wyatt murmured. “Anyway, let’s worry about all the details when the time comes. Erika may not be the top bidder.”

      “You can hope. I suspect she’ll not only win, but she’ll want to spend part of the evening parked in a lovers’ lane. Come to think of it, maybe the Corvette isn’t such a good idea after all.”

      “Bucket seats,” Wyatt mused. “Gearshift. I see what you mean.”

      “Definitely the Cadillac has more potential as a love nest. In the meantime, I have work to do.” She eyed the narrow space between the car and the wall. Wyatt was occupying a good deal of it, and she would have to squeeze past him to get to the office. It would be easier to go around the car and climb through the back seat—except that would mean figuring out how to get the door open wide enough to get in. How had Robbie gotten out, anyway, with the car’s convertible top up?

      “If you’re going to be hanging around here all the time,” she added dryly, “I can find something better for you to do than polish that fender with the seat of your trousers.”

      He pushed himself away from the car. “I was just thinking about making a promotional tour.”

      “Good idea.” She tried to stand aside to let him pass, but there was nowhere to go. As he slid by her, she felt the brush of his tweed jacket against her breasts. He paused, and Melanie had to restrain herself from climbing onto the hood of the Cadillac to get away.

      How utterly foolish that impulse was, she told herself, because there had been nothing sensual about the contact. It certainly wasn’t as if the man was incapable of controlling his impulses if he got too close to her. In fact, he’d probably laugh at the very idea of being overwhelmed by Melanie’s sex appeal—especially with the image of Erika’s black leather pants fresh in his mind. Furthermore, Melanie wasn’t attracted to him any more than he was to her.

      But when the door closed behind him, she didn’t go into the office. Instead, she opened the shop door and told Robbie to get the Titanic-size Cadillac out of the showroom immediately and bring in a car which would actually fit, with room left to walk around.

      She told herself she was only doing it to show the merchandise in a better light and make it easier for the customers to get a good look.

      It had nothing to do with Wyatt. Nothing at all.

      Closing time passed, and Melanie locked the door. But an hour later she was still standing at the narrow counter which held the coffee machine, clearing up the last of the day’s orders.

      It had been busy all afternoon. Bill Myers had come as promised to pick up the replacement door for his Mustang, but instead of going home to work on the car, he’d planted himself beside her desk to chat for half an hour. The owner of the Model T which was nearing completion back in the shop had come to her to complain that the new upholstery wasn’t quite the color he’d had in mind, and Melanie had had to talk him out of doing the interior in flame orange. And back in the shop, Karl had cut himself on the edge of a rusty fender and had to have three stitches and a tetanus shot.

      Only during her walk with Scruffy had Melanie had a chance to think at all, and then her mind had been going in circles because of Wyatt’s plan to sell the whole business.

      She’d never given the possibility much thought before. As long as Jackson’s share was drawing no nibbles, there had been no point in even thinking of selling her own. But Wyatt’s conviction was contagious. If he was right, and they really could sell out…

      The farther she’d walked, the more colorful her dreams had become. If the price was high enough, she wouldn’t have to get another job. She could go back to school and follow through on the plans she’d made so long ago—the plans she’d had to put on the shelf when her father died. If only the price was high enough…

      Then she’d come back to the shop. She had stood at the edge of the highway just outside the fence and looked at the makeshift metal building with its peeling paint and awkward lean-to additions. She’d looked at the row of cars out front, in various stages of restoration and repair. She’d looked beyond them to the still-weedy back half of the lot. And the grandiose dreams had burst like an overinflated bubble.

      It was easy to dream when she wasn’t looking directly at the facts. But once she was back on the lot, facing reality, it was impossible to fool herself. She didn’t even have to dig out the ledgers; she knew the numbers almost by heart.

      While the business was profitable, it wasn’t such a stunning success that it could command top dollar from a buyer. Besides, she asked herself bluntly, who was going to want it?

      It wasn’t the sort of business anyone would buy as an investment, because there were easier ways to make a buck. Restoring old cars required large doses of labor, individual attention, and devotion to detail—not exactly the road map to high profits. So what were the odds of finding someone who not only had the money to finance the purchase but was fascinated with old cars as well?

      Then there was the question of what Wyatt would consider to be a good price. Melanie was sure he’d want more than he’d paid—if he could get it. But how much was that? And even before he’d looked at the books, he’d as much as said that he wouldn’t hesitate to cut his losses if he had to. What kind of penalty would he be willing to pay to get out of a bad situation?

      It was an important question because the price he got would determine her cut as well. But if the payoff wasn’t enough to fund her dream…

      Then she would simply be trading this job for a different one. And if that was the case, she might as well stay right where she was. She knew she could make this work, because she’d done it for several years. And at least here she was her own boss.

      She pulled a strip of tape off the roll and was slapping it onto a box when a key clicked in the door. Scruffy growled, but as Wyatt came in the dog gave one sharp yelp of greeting and bounced across the showroom toward him.